Man Versus Insect
by Oreal770
Summary: John watches in amazement as the world's only consulting detective takes on the challenge introduced to him in the small hours of the morning, with much enthusiasm: Sherlock Vs Fly... GO!


**Hello! Sorry it's not a Distorted Reality update, but this idea is just a bit of fun, inspired by my last few nights - especially last night, where I have been forced to wage war on a fly in my bedroom, knowing if I don't get rid of it, it will just wake me up.  
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**Unfortunately meaning I didn't get to go to bed until 3am, but hopefully worth it if you enjoy this!  
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**Also, my first foray into Sherlock fanfiction, which I enjoy reading at the moment, and my first fic based around humour!  
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**I do not own Sherlock!  
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**Man Versus Insect  
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A loud _crash_ from downstairs jerked John quickly out of his slumber, and he flew upright, swearing profusely.

"Sherlock!" He hissed angrily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and glancing at the digital clock next to his bed, happily informing him that his impromptu awakening had occurred at 3:45am, just three short hours after he and Sherlock had arrived from a particularly strenuous case, John's throbbing shoulder decided to remind him. He had hoped that Sherlock had crashed like he had, not having slept at all in the last week.

Tugging his dressing gown around him, toeing on his slippers and jumping at another loud _crash_ from downstairs, John's brow creased in indignation and he hurried towards the source of the noise.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" John was already hissing as he made his way into the living room to find it empty.

Slightly disorientated, John glanced into the Kitchen to find it in a similar state of disuse and frowning in confusion, made his way into the final room Sherlock might currently be inhabiting: his bedroom, which usually went unused and experiment-free.

"You'll wake Mrs. Hudson!" John's tirade continued as he walked into Sherlock's room, just to freeze in the doorway at the strangest sight.

Sherlock, who had not seemed to have noticed him at all, was stood half-dressed in the middle of the room, a Chinese takeaway leaflet grasped in his right hand. His body was tense, in a half crouch as his eyes darted quickly around the room. He looked particularly bedraggled, his hair sticking out in all directions, looking like he had just rolled out of bed.

"What _are_ you doing?" John's voice returned to him, but the anger had drained out of it, leaving the tone incredulous.

Sherlock did not look at him, but began to spin slowly in a circle, his eyes still darting around the room, alighting on numerous surfaces, but never for more than a second.

"Ah, John." The man finally acknowledged his presence in the room, still spinning. "Good timing. Where's your gun?"

John spluttered, "I'm not going to give you my gun, Sherlock, there's no threat here! Your room is empty!"

But Sherlock had frozen, his eyes had finally stopped darting, but were now fixed upon a patch of wall just above his headboard.

"Don't say _anything..._" The detective hissed at John, so quietly he had to strain to hear it. John squinted at the wall, but couldn't see anything there, and his mind wondered if Sherlock had finally lost it from lack of sleep when he began to crawl across his bed, eyes fixed upon the point on the wall, his movements predatory.

With a sudden fluid movement, Sherlock leapt forwards, bringing his impromptu weapon against the wall with a _crash_! John hoped for a second this might be it, but the detective swore loudly and rolled off the bed, inspecting the leaflet for a second before shaking his head in frustration and moving back to the centre of the room, his eyes resuming their darting.

"Sherlock..." John began to speak but he was cut off quickly.

"Ah yes, John, your gun?" John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock I'm not giving you-"

"No, no, of course not, I'm not accurate enough, you'll have to shoot it."

"Shoot _what_ exactly?" John asked with no small amount of trepidation.

An answering _buzz_ made itself known just above John's head and he automatically swiped at it, realisation dawning.

"Which way did it go?" Sherlock asked him a second later, his eyes darting in John's direction.

"What? Uh, I don't know." John replied, his eyes automatically searching out the fly. "Is this what all the commotion is about? A fly?"

"It woke me up." Sherlock replied petulantly, his weapon still gripped in his hand as he saw the fly again. "_There_!" he hissed at John, who turned and followed Sherlock's gaze, this time spying the small insect sitting inconspicuously on the wall text to the door. He raised an eyebrow when Sherlock edged past him, weapon quickly slamming against the wall.

"Damn!" John heard Sherlock swear as he saw it fly away a fraction of a second before the leaflet came down on top of it.

John snorted slightly in disbelief at the sight of the frustrated detective, and Sherlock's eyes stopped darting and alighted briefly on John, his head tilted slightly in confusion. Just as he opened his mouth to comment however, his whole body shuddered and his hands reached up to swipe at the air in front of him, his eyes suddenly following the path of the fly round the bedroom.

Sherlock's eyes widened as it landed on his Periodic Table poster, then instantly narrowed. "Oh no you don't." John heard him growl, before he swiped at it. The fly instantly took flight away from the precious poster.

"John." Sherlock's voice was low and insistent. "Gun."

"Sherlock." John's voice was a warning, "I am not getting my gun because you were woken up by a fly. It will just result in more holes in the wall, waking up poor Mrs. Hudson, and a rise in the cost of our rent."

Sherlock scoffed at him, and John got the impression he would have rolled his eyes, had they not been fixed upon the fly now sitting upon one of his test tubes.

"...John?" Sherlock's voice was careful and measured, as if he was contemplating his words very carefully.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John's voice was slightly exasperated but his eyes, too, were fixed intently upon the fly sitting on the test tube.

"In the kitchen..." Sherlock began, but John interrupted him instantly.

"No, Sherlock."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!" the detective remarked incredulously, following the fly's path from the test tube to his bed side table.

"You are not allowed to use acid to kill the fly." John told him, and Sherlock huffed.

"But-"

"No, Sherlock."

"It's not even very strong-"

"_**No, **_Sherlock."

"_Fine."_ Sherlock surrendered, creeping towards the fly, leaflet raised.

As if anticipating the attack, the fly took off before Sherlock could get into position, leaving the consulting detective frowning and looking around again, having lost the fly.

"Oh, for-" John rolled his eyes, pushing all 6 foot 2 inches of consulting detective onto the bed (who immediately sat up again, frowning), walked over to the door, pulling a slipper off in the process, smacked the fly sat on the door frame and turned out the light.

"_Goodnight Sherlock_." He announced to the astonished silence from the room, closing the door and making his way back to his bedroom, tugging off his dressing gown, kicking away his slippers and rolling back into bed, the digital clock happily informing him that it was now 4:17am, and he had missed out on over half an hours sleep.

Chuckling lightly to himself at the look on Sherlock's face just before he had turned off the light, John closed his eyes and drifted off...

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**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it,**

**Please review? :)  
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**Oreal  
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